


The Witcher's Bard

by tashaxxxxxx



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Female Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:54:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24370897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tashaxxxxxx/pseuds/tashaxxxxxx
Summary: Jaskier never thought that destiny would have her befriend a Witcher but then Jaskier shouldn't be surprised when all she ever wanted was an adventure.  And what's more adventurous than being friends with a Witcher.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 1
Kudos: 75





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There are references to underage rape in this chapter so if not comfortable please don't read

Julia Pankratz led a happy life. She was daughter of the Viscount of Lettenhove, a daughter of nobility, and was treated as such. She gained the best education. She knew the geography of the continent; she was taught the elder speech from a young age. Her Governess taught her the things a woman of her station ought to know (sewing and the art of being responsible for the household).

Of course, Julia was far from the ideal daughter of nobility. She was forever climbing trees and running with the other children playing games, much to her parents’ annoyance. On one occasion she arrived for tea with a visiting noble with tree leaves stuck into her carefully plaited hair and mud up the beautifully decorated dress. Her Mother had been appalled and her Father had banned her from playing with the other children. Not that stopped her, she’d long figured out how to climb out of her bedroom window, onto the roofed terrace and down the little ladder that was so covered in vines and leaves no one else knew it was there.

Being an only child, her Mother suffering only miscarriages since her own birth, there was expectation that Julia would marry a nobleman and her Father’s titles and lands would go to her husband upon her Father’s death. Not that anyone asked Julia’s opinion on those matters.

Julia’s heart was in singing and poetry and literacy. She had devoured poetry books from the family library since she had been old enough to learn how to read. Julia would sit in rapt attention whenever bard’s visited, awed by their colourful clothes and the way their hands danced across their instruments. And she would sing whenever she could. Her Mother adored it, encouraged it even. She would say that when Julia was married it would bring her husband to be so much joy. Her Father, never one to go against his wife when it came tot heir daughter allowed the music but Julia could almost see his eyes roll whenever she watched the bard’s perform. And he never allowed her to perform.

When she was 14 years old a bard stayed at Lettonhove, invited by her Mother personally for the Winter. Julia was an impulsive child, an impulsive child who always got what she wished. So within the week of Valdo Marx’s stay in Lettonhove she had demanded that the bard teach her to play the lute. He agreed, of course. He could hardly say no to her.

Julia spent all winter under the watchful eyes of Valdo Marx as she learnt everything there was to being a bard. Valdo Marx was a handsome bard, no older than 20 with colourful clothing and a masculine figure that made the 14 year old Julia’s heart flutter every moment she spent with him. She’d never spent close proximity with men before, her Mother only ever allowed her to spend time with other girls who in Julia’s opinion lacked any sort of adventurous bone in their bodies. She’d kissed a boy before. A stable hand named Cain. She’d been 13, having her first bleed the month previous and had just started to learn about boys. He’d been the same age but shorter than her and had tasted like horses when she kissed him.

Valdo Marxo was nothing like Cain though, nothing like any other boy or even man she had seen before. And Julia would readily admit that her 14 year old self was in love with the bard. Looking back, Julia can’t believe her nativity but then she’d had a sheltered life up until meeting Valdo. The casual touches he graced her with always sent a flutter up her heart. The light touches to the arm as he showed her how to string the lute correctly. The way he held her in his arms as he walked her through a new dance move.

It was the night before Valdo was due to leave when he suggested a midnight walk with her. Knowing her parents would never agree to it, Julia nodded and climbed out of her window and down the vine covered ladder in her best dress. She’d had to do her own braids and they kept coming out, Julia not being as able as her Mother or Governess in calming the brown locks.

“I have a gift for you.” Valdo announced as they walked side by side in the deserted orchid gardens. Julia practically bounced up and down in excitement as Valdo showed her the lute.

“Truly, this is the most perfect gift.” Julia said as she took the lute and thrummed it slightly in her hands. “But how will I tell my parents how I got it?” Julia’s lessons with Valdo where always in the accompany of others, whether they watched them closely or not if Valdo had given her the lute in front of them they would have noticed.

“I am going to gift it to you before I leave tomorrow. You are my most promising student.” Valdo announced, taking Julia’s hand and sitting her on a spread rug on the grassy floor. He passed her a glass of wine and Julia took it with surprise. Her Mother always said she was too young to drink wine.

They said nothing for some time, Julia taking sips of the wine at Valdo’ motioning even as it started to make her head dizzy and her vision fuzzy. After the 3rd glass, Julia staggered to her feet, Valdo holding onto her arm as she nearly lost her balance. “I really must be going. It’s getting late and Mother will notice if I haven’t had at least a little sleep.”

“Perhaps a small kiss then, from the little lady? As a thank you for my services these last few months.” Valdo said, pulling Julia back to the rug. Her heart thudded as Valdo pulled her own lips onto his. He didn’t taste like the stable boy had. He tasted sweeter, headier. She went to pull away after a while but Valdo grunted and pulled her to lie onto the rug, putting his weight on top of her.

“What are…” She started, struggling to move as his hand pulled at the fabric of her dress.

“Collecting my thanks you.” Valdo smirked.

Julia doesn’t remember what happens next. All she does remember is her screaming as blood drips down her thighs, desperately trying to escape but Valdo’s weight pushing her down. Keeping her from escaping.

The last thing he whispers in her hear before he leaves her there is: “Don’t tell anyone about this. They’ll never believe it. They’ll think you wanted it. Whore.” Julia cries until the blood loss, cold and pain lead her into unconsciousness.

The gardeners find her the next, curled in a ball her clothes ripped open to reveal her bare body. Blood pools under her legs. They carry her back to the keep and her Mother calls for a mage, tears falling from her cheeks as what happened to her daughter becomes clear.

Her Father is furious. Swearing and cursing everyone around and demanding that the culprit be found and punished. Nobody blinks as Valdo visits her when she awakens. No one says a word when he whispers in her ear so no one can hear but her “Remember, this is our secret and I can do this anytime I want.” No one says anything when Julia screams in terror and cried so hard she’s sick. No one says a word when he leaves the lute behind. No suspects Valdo Marx of doing this.

The stable boy Cain is blamed. One of the serving girls saw him kissing Julia and when he heard what happened ran to her Mother to tell her. Julia said nothing when her Father told him he would hang for what he did. She knew he was innocent but Valdo’s words kept running through her head. So sick with terror she was that she didn’t even think about how scared the stable boy must be, to be sentenced to death for a crime he had never even done. A few years later, Julia was disgusted with herself, that she hadn’t run to help the boy. That she had done nothing while he was killed and dragged away. When his Mother screamed that her son was innocent. To this day it made her sick to her stomach what had happened to him. That she had done nothing.

And then she missed a bleed one month. She told her Mother who cried and cried. The healer came the next day to examine her and found her pregnant. Julia heard the words in the hall as she ate with her family at tea, the bruises from Valdo’s fits still clear on her face.

“Little whore.”

“She let the stable boy do it to her.”

“A disgrace to her family.”

“Spoilt. No one will want her now.”

Her Father’s shoulders where slumped downwards, defeated. Her Mother’s eyes were dead inside. Neither of her parents would look at her. Neither of her parents comforted her when she woke up screaming in the middle of the night, begging for it to stop.

The mage her Mother brought her scared Julia. She looked to be barely 30 but her eyes looked as if she were a 100. She stared down at Julia as if she was a piece of shit on the bottom of her beautiful velvet slippers. Never once did she say anything to Julia. She just gave her Mother a potion and left. “Drink this. All of this.” Her Mother said, giving the small vial of dark brown sludge to her daughter.

“What will it do?” Julia asked, voice smaller and more timid than it had ever been in her life. Her Mother said nothing, just turned away from Julia, refusing to look her in the eye. The brown sludge was disgusting, so horrible Julia almost threw it back up. But she didn’t. She didn’t want to make her Mother any more disappointed with her than she already was.

The potion didn’t take affect for hours. One minute Julia was lying in bed about to drift to sleep when she felt overwhelming cramps in her abdomen. She sobbed as the pain overwhelmed her, curling into a ball in the middle of her bed as pain after pain went through her. When blood smeared down her thighs and pooled under he bedding she screamed. No one cam until morning.

“Don’t cry dear, it was necessary.” Her Mother said as she entered the room that morning, the maids having already entered and stripped her naked and dumped her into the bathtub full of boiling water. Julia hadn’t stopped crying until that point. “Ladies don’t cry and you are a lady now.” The way her Mother said it made shame curl up in Julia’s belly and she choked off the next cry with a strangled sob.

The mage from yesterday waked in, sniffing her nose in the air as she inspected the bloodied bedding. “It’s done?” Her Mother asked and the mage nodded, turning the Julia.

“The girl will not have the baby. The girl will not have any child again.” Julia’s throat tightened, not understanding why her Mother choked out a small cry and nodded her head.

“I don’t understand Mother.” Julia whispered as she watched her Mother and the mage leave the room but no one said a word to her.

She spent the day being pampered by the servants, being forced into a dress that was far to restrictive to move in and her hair being shaped in odd angles. When they were finally done and handed Julia the mirror, she barely recognised herself. The girl in the mirror looked far older than Julia’s 14 years and the spark in her blue eyes had gone. 

That evening her Father had invited a noble from a neighbouring estate. He introduced himself as Henri and was 30 years Julia’s senior. Julia didn’t understand why her Father sat her by the nobleman or why the man kept glancing over at Julia approvingly, as if she were a piece of meat.

That evening, he Mother called her to her Father’s study and the small family of 3 stood together for the first time since Valdo Marx had come into their lives. “You will marry Henri. Next week.” Her Father announced without preamble. “His wife died last year and his estate is falling into disarray. He has 5 sons and 2 daughters all under the age of 10. He requires a new wife to help raise those children and manage his estate.”

“I don’t want to marry…” Julia started but her Father cut her off.

“You have disgraced this family.” Her Father shouting, making Julia cower. Her Father had never shouted at her before. “Whatever happened in that orchid, of which we know nothing because you refuse to talk about it, we know one thing for certain. You went there, in your best dress, hair made up as if you were going to a ball and surrounded by the remains of what appeared to be a romantic evening.” Her Father glared at his daughter for a moment before collapsing into his chair, head falling into his hands. “What it appears to the outside world who did not have to see their daughter covered in blood and bruises is that you where a willing participant.” Julia was shaking, tears threatening to spill but she refused to allow them. “You have disgraced this family.”

“I don’t want to marry anyone.” Julia said, standing up a bit straighter and looking her Father in the eye. “I want to be bard.” Her Mother laughed at that. Actually laughed.

“No. You will marry and you will do as you are told.” She turned to her daughter, anger in her eyes. “Do you think it brought me pleasure Julia, to steal your unborn child from you. Do you think it brought me pleasure to call that mage to come to this house to take away your ability to bare a child just so you could not disgrace this family further. You are damaged goods and the only reason Henri has so gracelessly offered to take you off our hands is because he is an old friend of your Fathers and felt sorry for you. You should take this offer gracefully and thankfully because no one will ever want to you now. They will only ever see you as a whore.”

Julia was crying no, tears spilling down her face as her Mother turned her back to her only daughter. “Henri is a good man.” Her Father said. “You will be happy. And safe.” 

Trapped, Julia thought but did not say as she turned from the room and left her parents sitting there, all her dreams torn away in a single moment. She had wanted to travel, to have adventures. She had wanted to go to Oxenfurt, to learn the seven liberal arts. She had wanted to be a bard. And it had all been torn away from her.

As she entered her room and locked the door behind her bewildered maid she spied the lute sitting on the dressing table. She had not picked it up since that fateful night with Valdo Marx but now she did. Strumming her hands across the strings she smiled faintly as the melody flitted from the instrument. As she stripped from her dressed for bed that night she looked around her room. All the pretty trinkets of a nobleman’s daughter. All the beautifully laced dresses. To anyone else it would look like a dream. To her it looked like a gilded cage.

Running her hands through the laced dresses, Julia placed her hands on the dull riding dress and leggings which she so rarely worse. She knew how to ride a horse but her Mother was of the opinion that ladies did not ride and so the outfit had seen little use. Pulling it out Julia made her decision. Routing around her draws, Julia took the jewellery that her parents had gifted to her and put it into a bag, which she could cross over her shoulder. She dragged on the riding leggings and dress, looking in the mirror and frowning. The outfit was perhaps not perfect for barding but Julia had nothing else suitable.

That night she climbed from her window once more and ran from Lettenhove as far as her riding shoes, which pinched her feet, would allow.

In the first town she found, 3 days walk from Lettenhove, Julia sold her jewellery for new barding clothes and a room at the inn. As she strummed the lute and sang the bawdiest song she had learnt from the servants children at Lettenhove she had never felt so free in her whole life. When they asked her name, Julia paused for a moment before answering. “Jaskier, my name is Jaskier.”


	2. Chapter 2

Geralt’s first thought of this loud, annoying bard was that she was young. Very young. Far to young to be in this backwater tavern in Posada of all places.

“No one else hesitated to comment on the quality of my performance, except for you.” She sauntered over to sit opposite Geralt who only glared in the way that scared off every other human. Except for some reason her. “Come on. You don’t want to leave a girl with…bread in her pants waiting.” Geralt could see the way even she cringed at that. “3 words or less.” She sat down, one of the dandelions she had threaded into her hair falling onto the table.

Her bright blue bards outfit fitted her figure perfectly and Geralt guessed she had had a specifically made. Which begged the question of why she would have read in her pants in the first place. “They don’t exist.”

“What don’t exist?” The bard asked, frowning at the Witcher which just annoyed him even more. Any other human would have run by now but not her.

“The creatures in your song.”

“And how would you know.” The girl started before drumming the table in undenied glee. “Oh fun. White hair. Big old loner. Two very, very scary looking swords. I know who you are.” Geralt stood. He’d had enough of this over eager bard. “You’re the Witcher. Geralt of Rivia. Called it.” Before Geralt could turn around and say something to this annoying bard, preferably to fuck off, one of locals came up to him, offering coin to get rid of a monster. Well, it’s not like the bard would be stupid enough to follow him there.

Julia had been Jaskier for nearly a year now and she loved every minute of it. To be fair, she didn’t always have enough money for food and a dry inn to stay in and the crowds weren’t always happy to hear her bawdy songs, such as the one she had entered today. But she loved the freedom the barding profession gave her. Dancing in a small circle she came to rest her eyes on a figure in the back of this small tavern in Posada. He looked…interesting. Without a seconds thought to her own safety, Jaskier picked up the bread that had been oh so kindly the own at her and sauntered over.

As the Witcher left the tavern, Jaskier paused for a moment. What was she thinking. Following a Witcher. The man was going to fight a monster. A very dangerous monster. And Jaskier had seen her fair share of monsters in the not so fair human race without actively chasing a scary looking Witcher and going to see real life monsters. But that was Julia’s fears. Not Jaskier. Jaskier craved adventure and that Witcher may look scary but he also screamed adventure.

To say Geralt was annoyed to hear the bard shouting his name would be an understatement. He was furious. Furious enough to consider punching the bard before he remembered she was a girl and instead telling her to fuck off. He might be a Witcher but the girl looked like she’d fall over if he even blew on her. And yet she still followed him. Didn’t even bat an eye lid when Geralt received a hit to the head which drew blood. She seemed gleefully happy as she loudly pronounced “Act 2 begins.” When she fell unconscious, Geralt couldn’t help but feel a bit pleased about having the silence return. Up until the Sylvan knocked him unconscious to.

Jaskier would admin that business with the elves had been terrified, she wasn’t crazy after all. But it had given her an insight into what true adventure was. That and they had gifted her with a beautiful elven lute and, happily, destroyed the one that Valdo Marx had gifted to her. As she strummed her lute piecing together lyrics of the great Geralt of Rivia, the white wolf; she could have sworn she saw Geralt smile.

“How old are you anyway?” Geralt asked as Jaskier finished her rendition of Toss a coin to your Witcher and sat next to Geralt, ale in hand and coin purse bulging at the seams.

“You should never ask a lady her age.” Jaskier replied, earning a hum from the Witcher. She’d been travelling with him for near on 4 months now and it all seemed to be going swimmingly. To be fair, the Witcher had been less than pleased about her being their but then he had been more than capable of leaving her behind, him being on a horse and her on foot, but he hadn’t. “16, as of today.” Jaskier announced as she counted the days up.

It was hard to keep track of the days on the road but Jaskier tried to do so. She was a bit surprised to realise it was her birthday today and felt a small feeling of … something. Usually her parents would have prepared a feast for her birthday, after all 16 was a big deal. But then, she hadn’t seen her parents in nearly 2 years so why did she suddenly thinking about them.

“You young.” Geralt said, frown deepening. Jaskier honestly thought that the Witcher’s face was frozen in that ridiculous grimace.

“Something you already knew.” Jaskier grinned as ne of the patrons in the inn shouted for an encore. “No if you will excuse me, my adoring fans await.” Geralt just grunted as Jaskier pulled the beautiful elven lute into her arms and strummed the opening tun to a bawdy fold song.

Geralt would never admit that he and Jaskier were friends. The girl, he refused to call her a woman, was fast becoming the bain of his existence. But he couldn’t deny that he missed her company as he pulled up Roach outside the Whorehouse. They’d parted ways a few weeks ago, Jaskier had received an invitation to Oxenfurt to give a guest lecture, something which she had told Geralt was an absolute honour. She had invited Geralt to come with her but he had refused. He hated crowds. Hated people. But he wished he’d gone.

Jaskier was the first human Geralt had ever met that wasn’t afraid of him. It was…confusing. Almost as confusing as this bright young, energetic woman following him around. But Geralt found himself enjoying the company. Enjoying the long stretches of Jaskier’s mindless singing as she searched for lyrics that worked together. Enjoyed the chatter as she told him about the latest fashions in Redania. He’d never liked chatter before. Always enjoyed quiet but now with just Roach for company he found he missed it. The mare snorted into his chest as he carefully brushed her down in the stables as if agreeing with Geralt.

It helped that the bard had made good on her original promise, that she would make him well liked and famous. How quickly had Toss a coin to your Witcher passed around the continent, it seemed to play in every inn the Witcher walked into. Annoying but at least people paid him in full now. Speaking of full, Geralt lifted the heavy coin purse and walked into the whore house, intent on not thinking of his ridulous bard for a little while at least.

“Food, women and wine, Geralt.” That was how she had hooked him in. Damn it, the Witcher frowned as Jaskier took his arm and all but dragged him into the royal hall of Cintra. She’s grown a lot since Geralt had first met the impulsive 15 year old. Now 17, Jaskier’s form was starting to curve into that of a woman’s. Usually covered by the men’s colourful barding clothes, Jaskier was today wearing a silk dress in warm shades of brown. It hugged her figure off, showing off the curves of a woman’s body. Her hair she had let flow long tonight, nearly to her waist with ribbons, buttercups and dandelion’s woven threw it. She was beautiful. But still young the Witcher reminded himself as she chattered on about something or other. And then Mousesack was shouting his name across the hall and all eyes turned his way.

Geralt lost sight of Jaskier after she finished her performance. As he sat searching the dinging room the Lioness of Cintra drew his attention back to her, “Lost you little songbird?” 

Geralt hummed. “Do you love her? Is that why you came here because you feel responsible for her?” Calanthe asked and Geralt frowned. He cared about Jaskier, that was becoming more and more clearer the longer he spent with the bard. And yes, he thought she was beautiful but it didn’t matter. She was too young for him, too pure. She deserved better than the Witcher could give him. “Can I rely on your assistance as your bard does?” Calanthe continued as Jaskier walked back into sight. She was on the arm of a man who strutted like a damn peacock. She was smiling and laughing with the man but Geralt could see the tenseness in her shoulders.

Geralt was about to tell Calanthe that he didn’t get involved in the petty squabbles of men when the door barged open and Geralt did in fact get involved. And get a child of surprise to boot.

To say things had gone to shit, would in Jaskier’s personal opinion be an understatement. Not only had Geralt left her after gaining a child of surprise. Really Geralt, she thought, of all things. She now couldn’t get rid of this ridiculous strutting man that hadn’t left her alone since he’d cornered her after her performance and gotten a bit too handsy. 

“Really, I must be on my way.” Jaskier smiled, extracting her arm from the man’s firms grip.

“Must you, but we’ve barely gotten to know each other.” The man frowned, keeping firm grip on her arm.

“Really. Places to be, people to see.” She smiled, tossing a small smile which she hoped didn’t show the fear she was feeling.

“That Witcher doesn’t deserve you.” The man growled as Jaskier finally extricated herself from his grip. “Damn mutant. You serve a proper man.” And that did it. Seeing red, Jaskier placed a well-aimed kick to the man’s private parts, gathering up her skirts in a practiced huff as he rolled around on the floor in agony. If only she’d thought to do that to Valdo Marx, she thought tiredly as she walked down the path leading to the town. Geralt had left a little while ago and Jaskier really hoped he’d at least decided to wait for her at the inn there were staying at.

3 years after the business in Cintra, Jaskier found herself kicked out of the beautiful Duchess of Stahl’s home in Toussaint. She had spent the better part of 6 months their playing mistress to the Duchess for the duration of winter. It was the first time Jaskier had slept with a woman and she could safely say it was an experience she would be enjoying again. The Duchess had been beautiful, gifting her fine jewellery and even finer dresses. Jaskier had loved her as readily as she loved all her lovers. But alas, the Duchess was to be married, a second time, and Jaskier had been forced to move on.

Not that Jaskier minded all that much, she had plans to find Geralt after the long winter apart. But still, she had rather hoped to leave the Duchess on much better terms than being dragged from her bedroom by the town guards and being thrown onto the street. At least the Duchess had had the decency to throw her belongings out with her.

Geralt heard Jaskier’s voice before he saw the bard. She was signing about something or other. And then she was talking and Geralt wasn’t listening because he was too focused on finding the Djinn. He needed some fucking sleep and the damned bard was not helping.

And then he found the bottle and Jaskier wouldn’t give it to him and the bottle broke and all he’d wanted was some damned peace. “Jaskier.” Geralt growled as the bard shouted her first to wishes. Geralt might have asked who Valdo Marx was and why he Jaskier wanted him to fall down with apoplexy but he was too annoyed with the bard antics to do so.

“How was I supposed to know you wanted 3 wishes all to your damned self.” Jaskier shouted and a part of Geralt’s mind noticed how lovely Jaskier looked when she was angry. Cheeks bright pink from anger and eyes a stormy grey.

“I just want some damned peace.” And then the Djinn attacked them and Jaskier collapsed, coughing blood, neck building and swelling. Geralt cursed himself as he picked the bard up and all but carried her to Roach as she clung onto his shirt for dear life.

To say Yennefer was surprised when the Witcher walked in would be an understatement. She had expected the Witcher had known he was coming to her for help but she hadn’t expected the young woman he brought with her. She was dressed in light blue trousers and a white chemise that left little to the imagination. But she was coughing up blood and there was swelling around her neck as if she’d been chocked.

“Who did this?” Yennefer asked as she crouched next to the young girl and the Witcher stood hovering over Yennefer, watching her work.

“A Djinn.” The Witcher said, the bard nodding in confirmation even as she chocked as if trying to say something. Yenn touched the girl’s mind for a moment before nodding. The bard, Jaskier, confirmed what Geralt had said. With the weight that the Witcher hadn’t actually hurt the girl gone from her shoulders and the knowledge that there was a Djinn out there, Yenn got to work.

As Geralt lay with his arms wrapped around Yennefer, his mind kept wandering to Jaskier. She was alive. She was safe and alive. No thanks to him. “You should let her go.” Yennefer’s piercing violet eyes met Geralt’s amber ones with a ferocity that Geralt hadn’t expected. “The girl is human, she’s delicate. She’ll die if she keeps following you.”

Geralt huffed, knowing Yennefer was right, even as he knew Jaskier would never leave him. “She likes danger too much to be left behind.” Yennefer hummed in acceptance of this and then brought her lips down to meet the Witcher’s once more.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got away from me a bit and went in a completely different direction than planned so I hop you enjoy.

The Wyvern had caught them off guard. Geralt had thought the clearing was safe, he hadn’t sensed any magic, his medallion hadn’t buzzed to warn him of any as he and Jaskier set up camp that evening. Or rather Jaskier set up camp while Geralt had gone off hunting in search of dinner. 

She grown a lot since in the 2 years after the incident with the djinn. She was no longer the little girl Geralt had met 7 years ago, she was a woman now. Taller than most women, Jaskier was thin as a rake but with a healthy curve in her bust that had her cleavage being very obvious when she unbuttoned or took off the doublet she wore over her chemise. As Geralt walked into the clearing and saw her barefoot and leaning against the rock as she strummed a few chords on her lute, Geralt felt a lust rush though him straight to his groin. Jaskier wasn’t like Yennefer, who was beauty personified and sharp as one of his swords if you weren’t careful. No Jaskier, was soft, and kind and pretty. Geralt cursed himself. Jaskier was his oldest friend, his only friend in truth and he would be damned if his cock was going to ruin it.

“Dinner, excellent.” Jaskier grinned as she spied him from the corner of her eye. As he went about gutting the rabbit he had caught and placing it over the fire, Jaskier combed through her hair, cut shorter to her shoulders now. When he’d asked why she’d cut it she’d said it was easier to maintain on the road at a shorter length. Geralt found himself missing the longer brown locks.

“Delicious.” Jaskier announced as Geralt passed her her dinner, going off into a nonsense song about him providing food for the fair maiden poet.

That night there was a chill in the air and Geralt found Jaskier curled up by his side, leeching his body heat, as she gently snored. Geralt closed his eyes, one hand gently stroking Jaskier’s shoulder as she shuffled closer to him in her sleep. If he hadn’t been a Witcher, maybe just maybe things could have been different between him and Jaskier but he was so they couldn’t be.

His medallion burning across his chest warned him of danger. “Wake up.” Geralt roughly nudged Jaskier awake as the Witcher grabbed his swords and surveyed the dark forest around him. To her credit, Jaskier only paused for a moment as her sleep addled brain focused on getting her shoes on and standing close to Geralt. The fire was nearly dying but Geralt’s enhanced senses let him see further than the small circle of light the fire and moon cast over the clearing.

“Geralt?” Jaskier asked, one hand on Geralt’s wrist as she glanced around the forest fearfully. Great barley registered as he saw the Wyvern a few meters into the thick forest. “Take Roach, run.” Geralt grunted, pushing Jaskier towards the horse as he brought his sword up to meet the wickedly cruel claws.

Jaskier stumbled as Geralt pushed her out of the way of the creature attacked Geralt. Grabbing Roach, Jaskier went to pull herself up onto the horse when she saw Geralt stumble backwards, almost being cleaved in 2 by the lizard like creatures great claws. Swallowing down a wave of fear, Jaskier shouted at the monster and ran a short way away from Roach. She’d be damned if she was responsible for getting the Witcher’s beloved horse hurt.

Geralt swore as he saw the Wyvern turn to face Jaskier. The damned bard was standing waving her hands around fear obvious in her eyes as the creature went towards her. Geralt grunted, moving to his feet and ignoring the blood that was pouring from a wound he’d taken to the leg. The Wyvern had almost taken off his head when Jaskier had caught its’ attention.

“Run!” Geralt yelled and Jaskier didn’t have to be told twice as she spun on her heel intent on running back into the forest when the monster’s front claws speared through her back. Jaskier fell to the floor with a scream as white-hot agony flew up her back. She heard a yell which sounded like Geralt but was far too far away to be Geralt as her eyes drifted close, only to re-open as the Witcher’s amber eyes locked onto hers. He looked terrified, something Jaskier had never seen before.

The world seemed to stand still for a moment as the Wyvern sliced through Jaskier’s back and the bard dropped to the floor with a scream. The scream pulled Geralt from his thoughts as the Witcher pulled his sword back and attacked the Wyvern with an anger he had never felt before. The monster was dead in moments.

Dropping to his knees, Geralt turned Jaskier over, gently shaking her awake. He blue eyes opened wide and frightened as she met Geralt’s own and the Witcher felt as if his heart might stop beating. That look of fear, of terror should never be on the face of someone like Jaskier. “Geralt…” Jaskier murmured and Geralt felt like he was back on the aftermath of the djinn attack, Jaskier almost dead because of him.

“Stay awake.” Geralt snarled as Jaskier closed her eyes but she didn’t open them again. Cursing the Witcher turned Jaskier over in his arms so she was lying face down to survey the damage to her back.

Yennefer was on her way to Brugge when she heard the scream coming from a few yards off the trail. Upon hearing the scream, Yennefer urged her horse through the dense forest intent on helping the young woman who had screamed. Expecting to find a woman about to be raped by a gang of men (after all why else would a woman be screaming in the idle of the forest in the middle of the night), she was a tad surprised to find a dead Wyvern, the white haired Witcher and his bard.

The Witcher didn’t look up from where he was knelt next to the bleeding bard who was thoroughly unconscious. Looking at the white hair plastered t his forehead, Yennefer was brought back to their time together a few months prior in a nameless village where they had spent days wrapped in each others arms.

“Why is it whenever I meet your bard she’s always bleeding all over the place.” Geralt jolted to look at the enchantress and Yennefer was a bit surprised to find fear in those amber eyes. “What happened?”

“Wyern attacked us. Didn’t know it was here.” Geralt was pressing cloths to Jaskier’s back where the Wyvern had obviously attacked her. “Can you help?”

Yennefer thought she should really just walk away. The bard wasn’t her problem, she only knew Jaskier because of Geralt. But she remembered the glance into Jaskier’s mind after the djinn attack. The glance that told her then that the young bard was worth helping, which was telling her she was still worth helping now.

“Move aside.” Yennefer pushed Geralt away, looking at the wound covering the whole of Jaskier’s back. The claw mark was deep, going right down to bone and was bleeding profusely. Wrinkling her nose, Yennefer motioned into the air conjuring a portal. “Pick her up and bring her with me.” Geralt did so instantly, handling the unconscious bard with a gentleness that Yennefer had thought he could not possess.

Geralt hovered over Yennefer as she worked on the potions and spells to knit together the muscle and bone sine the Wyvern’s claws had gone through on Jaskier’s back. “She won’t scar.” Yennefer stated as she stepped back from her work, motioning Geralt to turn Jaskier onto her back so she might sleep easier.

Geralt gently lifted the bard body turning her to lie back down, pressing a soft kiss to Jaskier’s head as he covered her bared chest with a blanket. “Where are we?” Geralt said, pretending to ignore Yennefer’s piercing gaze on his back as he gently tucked the blanket around his sleeping bard.

“A small cottage on the outskirts of Brugge.” Yennefer replied, glancing once at Jaskier and then once at Geralt. “You care about her?” Geralt hummed, unsure where Yennefer was going. “More than me.” 

Was that jelousy Geralt heard in Yennefer’s voice. “Jaskier’s a friend.” He grumbled, turning his back from the bard and putting himself between Yennefer and Jaskier. 

“You don’t need to protect her from me.” Yennefer sighed, moving around Geralt to sit on the other side of the sleeping bard. “She’s grown up from the last time I saw her. Grown more into herself.” Yennefer looked over Jaskier critically. “I can see why you love her.”

That caught Geralt off guard so much he sat down on the other edge of the bed, not looking at Yennefer or Jaskier, instead glaring a hole in the wall. “I don’t. She’s just a friend.” Yennefer just snorted and walked over to him, cupping his face with her hands so he had to look at her.

“You can never hide things from me.” She purred, kissing Geralt’s mouth. The Witcher leaned into it, enjoying the smell of gooseberries. “I know how you feel about her. I knew how you felt for her the day we met.” Yennefer sighed, moving away. “I don’t blame you. She is very beautiful and intriguing. Nowhere near as boring as most humans are.”

“Boring is not a word I would use to describe Jaskier.” Geralt snorted, still avoiding the subject.

Yennefer suddenly looked at him with those piercing purple eyes which where both terrifying and beautiful. “Don’t break her heart.” Geralt went to say something but Yennefer stopped him with a finger on his lips. “And don’t break mine either.”

Without a single other word Yennefer dragged Geralt to his feet and to the second room. She knew Geralt loved Jaskier, knew that the bard loved Geralt to. And if she was completely honest with herself, which she very rarely was, she might care for the little bard to. At least a little.

Jaskier woke up with a jolt, swearing as she hit her head on a large palm that had been gently stroking her head. “Geralt, what…what happened?” Jaskier stammered as she looked up at the white haired Witcher who suddenly looked guilty about stroking her hair. If Jaskier was honest she rather enjoyed it.

“You were attacked by a Wyvern.” Jaskier hummed, she vaguely remembered being woken in the middle of the night and being attacked by a monster. But not much after a blinding pain in her back. With a jolt, Jaskier sat up in the comfy four poster bed and felt her back for signs of an injury. “Yennfer healed you up.” Geralt said, his eyes glued to the floor.

Jaskier went a very dark red as she realised, she was completely naked top half up and she was giving the Witcher an unadulterated view of her breasts. Bringing up the blanket to cover what modesty she had left she suddenly realised that Yennefer would have seen her naked as well and now she just wanted to drop her head in her hands in embarrassment.

“Why is Yennefer always has to see me injured.” Jaskier grumbled as Geralt’s lips twitched into an almost smile. Then they turned down though and his head hung low.

“You almost died because of me. Again.” Geralt rumbled and Jaskier felt guilt gnaw at her chest. 

“I’m find Geralt.” She tried to reassure him only to have those piercing amber eyes lock onto hers.

“You almost died.” He growled, going to place a hand on her should but then thinking better of it.

“Yes, but I’m fine now.” And Jaskier could see the Witcher was going to blame himself in the way those eyes flashed and a wave of anger rolled through her. She was not some pretty flower that was going to break and this damned Witcher had no right to blame himself for her own stupid actions. “I was the one who shouted at that monster, not you. It’s my own fault and you will not blame yourself.”

“You wouldn’t be in danger if not for me.” Geralt grumbled once more and Jaskier pressed her hand to the Witcher’s temple, stroking through the soft white hair.

“Correction, if not for you I would have ended up lying in a ditch dead because I have an appalling habit of getting into trouble with or without you there.” She announced, giving herself a self-deprecating grin which Geralt returned, if not hesitantly. “You, my dearest Witcher are my knight in horse smelling blank amour.” Tis Geralt did laugh at, if only a little bit but it was enough to satisfy Jaskier.

“Now if you don’t mind, a little modesty wouldn’t go amiss so if you would be so kind as to find my shirt.” Jaskier grinned, motioning to her half naked self and Jaskier thought that if Witcher’s could blush she would have made Geralt go the brightest shade of red there was.


	4. Chapter 4

Jaskier was in love with Geralt. She’d known it for years, ever since the performance in Cintra when she’d returned to the inn half expecting Geralt to be long gone only to find him pacing in their shared room. He hadn’t asked her where she’d been just like she didn’t ask him how he was after claiming a child of surprise. They’d just sat in companionable silence, enjoying one another’s company. And later that night when Jaskier had claimed she was to cold to sleep alone, Geralt hadn’t said a word as he climbed into the bed next to her and held her safe and close as she drifted off to sleep.

Geralt wasn’t like other men, obviously because he was a Witcher, but also because he didn’t watch Jaskier like she was a prize to be won. Jaskier wasn’t a fool, hadn’t been a fool about what men were really like after Valdo Marx had raped and ruined her life. She knew what men thought when she danced around the tavern rooms, singing bawdy songs. She’d been caught out a few times, hands climbing where they shouldn’t. The odd unwanted kiss. Most of the time the men were to drunk to actually go any further. But sometimes they did. On those occasions, Jaskier was grateful she’d decided to follow a Witcher around. Geralt was terrifying to most people and when he saw that she was getting in over her head, the hands not dropping when she gave them a friendly warning to please get the hell off her, he came over and glared the handsy men away.

Of course, when Geralt wasn’t around because well the Witcher couldn’t be with her always, Jaskier did find that the unwanted advances went further than she’d like. But Jaskier was not Julia. Julia had died the day Jaskier had run from away from her parents home and an unwanted marriage. Jaskier didn’t say no to anyone. Because if you didn’t say no then they couldn’t hurt you. Granted she may not always want it but if she said no then she could so easily be raped and beaten just like poor Julia had. And Jaskier would not be the victim.

Geralt didn’t know any of this of course. The Witcher probably thought she was a whore the amount of men and women she bedded (granted some very much wanted and others not so much), which is why Jaskier never believed the Witcher would want her. After all, he had Yennefer and Yennefer was so much more than Jaskier.

A few weeks after the Wyvern attack, Geralt had left Jaskier in a tavern which was giving her free meal and room to play her songs to locals’, who Jaskier might add were very generous with her coins. He said he’d be back in a week after dealing with a contract and well…Jaskier enjoyed adventures more than the average human but she was still sore from Wyvern and she was rather enjoying the attention of her adoring fans.

Yennefer appeared from practical thin air as Jaskier was bathing in the sun, feet bare on the green grass as she composed her new song. She had been asked by one of the village children yesterday evening where she had come from and the idea of springing up from a field of bright yellow flowers had flown from her mouth in such a beautiful story that it would be shameful not to compose it into a song. Anyhow, Geralt was always her focus of the songs why shouldn’t she write one about herself.

“Enjoying the weather?” Yennefer smirked when Jaskier jumped upon seeing the witch in what was previously empty space.

“Very much so.” Jaskier replied, ignoring Yennefer’s smirk. “Geralt’s not here I’m afraid.” She turned back to her lute and was a bit surprised when the enchantress sat down next to her.

“I wasn’t looking for Geralt.” Jaskier didn’t know what to say to this so remained silent for a few moments. She’d only met Yennefer a few times and to be frank she was completely terrified of the other woman. Power exuded from her in waves and those violet eyes of hers looked as if they were wearing into Jaskier’s very soul.

“I never got to thank you for saving me.” Jaskier started. “I’d be dead without you…Twice.” Jaskier laughed nervously as Yennefer continued to watch the sky as if it had been Jaskier who had come and disturbed her. “So thank you…” Jaskier found herself trailing off.

Yennefer said nothing and Jaskier found herself tuning her lute nervously, wondering why the sorceress had sought her out and then decided not to speak. “Why do you follow a Witcher?” Yennfer asked, piercing Jaskier with those violet eyes and Jaskier felt herself swallow past a sudden lump in her throat.

“I…the adventure, I suppose.” Even to her own ears the answer was pathetic.

“Your songs about him have brought you a lot of fame and money.” Yennefer pointed out and Jaskier felt herself bristle. Alright, yes at first she had followed Geralt because of the possibility of money and fame but she had grown to care for her Witcher.

“Yes it had. But if that was why I followed Geralt I wouldn’t be here now. I’ve had far too many offerings to stay in noble houses for money to be my motivation and fame I already have. My songs are sung all over the continent.” Yennefer seemed to be smirking at her and Jaskier felt herself bristle again. “I stay because… because we’re friends.”

Yennefer nodded and stood up. The she paused and turned to look down at where Jaskier sat. “He cares about you. More than you know. I can see why, you’re very pretty.” And before Jaskier could even register that the terrifyingly beautiful Yennefer of Vengerburg had just called her pretty the enchantress had disappeared through one of her portals.

The next time Yennefer, Geralt and Jaskier came into contact with one another wasn’t because Jaskier had been attacked but by pure chance. It was a few months after the wyvern attack and Jaskier had been invited to play at the Oxenfurt music festival. Geralt had had a contract nearby and upon hearing Jaskier was in Oxenfurt had decided to visit, something which please Jaskier to know end. Yennefer claimed she was in the Oxenfurt for business but she refused to elaborate as she sat with Geralt and Jaskier on a back table watching a bard perform.

“He’s terrible.” Jaskier snorted, shaking her hair from her eyes. It had started to grow longer past her shoulder and she hadn’t decided to cut it short again yet, much to Geralt’s pleasure. A crown of yellow dandelions and buttercups graced her for wavy brown hair and the dress she wore was of a bright yellow colour. Yennefer had never seen the bard in a dress before and decided she liked the way it hugged her figure.

“You just have specific tastes.” Geralt teased. He’d been oddly talkative the last few days and Jaskier had decided the Oxenfurt celebrations were to blame and therefore resolved to drag the Witcher to the next set festivals regardless of any complaints.

“That is true.” Jaskier conceded, smiling as Yennefer smirked in answer. “But he has completely misjudged his audience.” Jaskier motioned around the tavern where most people were chattering over the bard’s music, completely ignoring the man’s desperate attempts to get their attention. “They want something more lively, not these ridiculously complicated ballads.”

“Why don’t you give them what they want then?” Yennefer answered, smiling in a way that had Jaskier’s heart beat 10x faster and Geralt could probably hear that.

“I would never upstage another bard.” Geralt and Yennefer both snorted at that, they’d seen her do exactly that yesterday when someone had demanded to hear the white wolf’s bard sing instead of the actual bard singing at that moment. Jaskier never one to turn down adoring fans had of course obliged. “And I have to keep my voice in tip top shape for tomorrow. I am after all the main attraction.” Downing the final dredges of her beer, Jaskier looked at the Witcher and enchantress and bid them good night. Knowing Geralt would be staying with Yennefer that night, Jaskier tried not to let the disappointment show on her face as she did so.

The next morning, Jaskier was honestly caught off guard when Yennefer barged into her room. She was dressed in all her glory and Jaskier felt a bit plain standing next to her, even though the dress she had bought had a very interact flower design on it and was of made in different shades of blue. “Where’s Geralt?” Jaskier asked, trying to push down the anxiety she felt at seeing the other woman. As much as she and Yennefer had become closer the last few months, the enchantress dropping in to discuss fashion and dresses with Jaskier every now and again, Jaskier was still very much intimidated by her. Though to be fair, if you were human and not even the slightest bit intimidated by Yennefer of Vengerburg then there was something seriously wrong with you.

“With his horse.” Yennefer scrunched up her nose as she took the brush from Jaskier’s hands and started to brush her hair. “Don’t move and sit still.” She rebuked as Jaskier went to grab the brush back. “I’ve been wanting to get me hands on you since I met you and now seems like the perfect opportunity.” Without even asking Jaskier what she thought about the manhandling, Yennefer proceeded to do her hair, make-up and then rather insultingly made her stand in the middle of the room as the enchantress prowled, literally prowled, around her. Every now and then adjusting bits of clothing and jewellery. “Perfect.” Yennefer smiled, linking her arms with Jaskier and all but dragging her from the room.

Geralt looked up as the door of the tavern opened. He’d finished with Roach a little while ago and was enjoying the quiet and fresh air of the morning before the hustle and bustle of the city started again. The heady smell of gooseberries and the sweeter smell of flowers and honeysuckle which clung to Jaskier followed the opening of the door. Geralt was a bit taken aback when he saw the two women walk out of the tavern and almost groaned to himself when he saw Yennefer’s handywork in the painted eyeshadow on Jaskier’s face and wavy brown locks weaved through with yellow and blue ribbons and roses.

“What do you think Geralt?” Yennefer asked, motioning to Jaskier and Geralt didn’t think the bard could get any redder as she removed herself from Yennefer’s arm.

Geralt just hummed, unsure what he was meant to say and Yennefer huffed “Men” at this. Jaskier laughed, a sound which vibrated in the fresh cool air of the morning, as Yennefer grabbed her arm again and dragged the bard past Geralt. All Geralt could think as they walked past is when the hell those two because this close.

Jaskier stood on the small stage erected on the streets of Oxenfurt, her voice carrying over the throngs in the crowd. Everyone around seemed enraptured and Geralt felt a little pride as he watched his bard enrapture the crowd. Yennefer leant against a wooden pillar, making even that act look elegant and ladylike. Geralt leant next to her, smelling the gooseberries in her hair and considering how different Yennefer and Jaskier where. And how he could care for them both at the same time. If very differently.

“I didn’t know you and Jaskier were friends.” Geralt went on. He’d been cautious when he learnt Yennefer was visiting Jaskier to converse and even more worried today when the witch had told him to go away while she went to see their bard. And when Jaskier had become their bard, Geralt had no idea.

“She’s interesting.” Yennefer shrugged, eyes staying fixed on Jaskier as she played the crowd. They were eating her up and Yennefer felt a swell of appreciation for the bard. She was bare footed, her face beaming like the sun. “Nothing like the average boring human.”

“She’s still human Yenn.” And Yennefer did turn her gaze from Jaskier’s performance to gaze into the fierce eyes of the Witcher. “She’s delicate.”

“A fact I reminded you of the day we met.” Yennefer recalled. “And a fact you seem to forget when you take her into danger, knowing fine well she hasn’t got the common sense to stay away.” Geralt actually looked chagrined about that.

“I know Yenn, but… Jaskier…she’s…” Geralt frowned, not knowing quite how to put into words how Jaskier actually was.

“Stubborn with a mind of her own and a perchance for trouble.” Yennefer supplied dryly, eyes going back to the bard. “I know.” The witch smiled as Jaskier did a full twirl before sitting on the edge of the make shift stage and going into a ballad which made Yennefer frown. “This is about us isn’t it.”

Geralt choked back a laugh as he listened to the opening lines of Her sweet kiss. He’d heard Jaskier playing around with lyrics the last few days but hadn’t known this was going to be the end result. “That damned bard.” Yenn growled with no malice in her voice at all.

She cared for Geralt, loved the man. The Witcher was the most interesting thing she’d been involved in in her very long life. The only person who had shown he cared for her. Except maybe Istredd. He was her type to a tee. But Jaskier. Now the affection Yennefer felt for the little bard was something Yennefer had not expected. And she hated to be taken by surprise, especially by her own feelings.

Jaskier did a final twirl on the closing not of her ballad before falling into a curtsey so low her knees almost hit the floor. The adoring crowd threw flowers at her feet, applauding and cheering for the Witcher’s bard and Jaskier lapped it up. She could see Yennefer and Geralt at the back, both brooding but smiling in her direction. Feeling a swell of warmth in her chest as she saw the two of them she thanked the crowd and jumped from the stage, intending to see what the Witcher and enchantress thought of her newest song when she felt an arm grab her.

Turning in a half circle, Jaskier pulled a smile on her face. That smile faded as she saw the man holding onto her arm. “Valdo…” She breathed as the bard grinned at her. He hadn’t changed. Still handsome and tall, still taller than her. He’s grown a full beard and moustache in their time apart. It suited him well.

“Lady Julia, I did not expect to see you here.” He was gently dragging her away from the crowd and Jaskier knew she should do something. Shout. Geralt would hear it and come running. But she couldn’t. The minute she’d seen him she’d turned into that 14 year old girl, frightened and scared and not understanding why this seemingly handsome man was doing something so fundamentally wrong to her.

“So, you’re the Witcher’s bard.” Valdo murmured by her ear as he pulled her away from the crowd of people, never letting go of his bruising grip on her arm. “I never thought you’d come this far.” He purred, arms running down her dress to fondle her arse. “You’ve grown up to be such a beauty. When I heard you’d run away from your parents I was sure you’d end up dead. But here you are, putting on a performance.” Valdo’s breath next to her cheek made Jaskier flinch. “Tell me, is the Witcher as kind to you as I was.”

That dragged Jaskier’s thoughts back to the present. She wasn’t Julia now. She wasn’t a scared 14 year old girl who didn’t know what to do when a man she had trusted abused that trust in the most horrendous way. She was Jaskier. A travelling bard, who was friend to a Witcher and enchantress. Who had faced monsters a great deal scarier than Valdo bloody Marx.

“Get off me.” Jaskier snarled, shoving the other bard off her with a surprising show of strength. Valdo fumbled for a moment but quickly regaining his balance.

“Now, now Julia. You never used to like it so rough.” Valdo grabbed the arm she raised to hit him and dodged the kick Jaskier aimed to his balls. “Of course you did scream so prettily last time. Will you scream like that for me again.” He brought him mouth down onto hers and Jaskier bit down on his lip.

Valdo startled backwards, drew his hand and smacked her so hard across her cheek that Jaskier could hear her ears ringing. “You’ll pay for that bitch.” Jaskier’s heart beat madly as Valdo unlaced the intricate lace pattern of her dress, pawing at her breasts.

“Please, stop.” She whispered but Valdo didn’t say a word as he roughly pushed her up against the wall, mouth finding hers. Tears fell unbidden down her cheeks and Jaskier couldn’t believe this was happening again. Valdo had her hands effectively pinned under one of his large arms and his other pawed at her dress and his body pressed against his. She couldn’t do this. Not again.

“Where’s Jaskier?” Geralt broke through Yennefer’s discussions on how the Jaskier’s new son was ludicrously incorrect. “She was right there a minutes ago.” Th Witcher frowned. He’d seen Jaskier jump from the stage, obviously heading in their direction. Then the crowd had moved and Geralt had lost sight of her.

Yennefer frown as well, glancing at the now particularly departed crowd. “Maybe she found someone to go and have a good time with?” She suggested but the look in Geralt’s eyes made the statement come off a bit week.

Geralt said nothing as he pushed passed the remaining members of the crowd. A few people glared his way but no one said anything. Scary Witcher after all, no human would get in his way. “Geralt?” Yennefer asked and Geralt was a bit surprised to find there was a slight hint of worry in the sorceress’s tone. Geralt turned in a half circle before he smelt the honeysuckle and roses that had clung to Jaskier so heavily this morning. Without a word to Yenn he marched down an alley, following the smell and ripe fear that was mingled with it.

What he saw made his blood boil. Jaskier was pinned to the alley wall, a man pinning her there as she struggled. Kissing her. Touching her. Her dress was hiked up so Geralt could see the white of her thighs as the man pulled her upwards. He had his sword out by his side and was about to raise said sword to cut this man in half when Valdo Marx dropped to the floor in a heap.

Jaskier’s knees buckled and it was only Geralt’s fast Witcher’s reflexes that stopped her from crashing to the floor. She clutched at his shirt, sobbing silently into the leather as Geralt gently petted her hair.

Yennefer stood over Valdo Marx with murder in her eyes. Her violet eyes screamed pure anger as the bard lay on the floor. All he was able to do was look at the enchantress with abstract terror. Yennefer’s power making him stay in place, unable to make a noise, unable to shout for help. Just as he had made her bard unable to fight back. She would make him pay for this. He would suffer so badly that he would wish to die. Nobody would hurt her bard in such a way as long as Yennefer of Vengerburg was alive.

“Yennefer?” Geralt’s voice broke Yennefer’s inner monologue. She glanced behind her to find Geralt holding Jaskier up. The girl’s face was hidden in the Witcher’s arm and Yennefer’s heart broke a little at how small, scared and so very young their bard looked.

“I don’t have tim for you.” She turned to Valdo Marx and all but snarled. “Be thankful of that.” And the bard fell forwards the spell Yennefer cast on him taking affect.

“What did you do?” Geralt growled. Yennefer could see that the Witcher wanted to murder Valdo Marx but he would not leave Jaskier to do it. Good, Yennefer thought. That piece of shit bard did not deserve the quick death Geralt’s anger would have afforded him.

“Made him as useful as a vegetable. He won’t be able to move, speak or hurt anyone again.” Yennefer grinned darkly before turning her eyes back to Jaskier. “Jaskier, little bard?” She said gently, placing a hand on Jaskier’s shaking form. Jaskier didn’t react. “Pick her up Geralt. She’s going to faint.” Yennefer said and was once more surprised at the gentleness the Witcher showed the young bard. And indeed, as soon as Geralt picked her up, Jaskier passed out in his arms.


	5. Chapter 5

Yennefer portalled them to her home town of Vengerburg. Geralt didn’t say a word as he placed Jaskier on the bed. The bard was pale, her make-up which Yennefer had so carefully put on that morning smudged down her face. Her face was wet and red from crying and Geralt knew when she opened her blue eyes they would be red as well.

“Who the fuck was that?” Geralt growled, anger coursing through his veins as he remembered the way that man had forced himself on Jaskier.

“I have no idea.” Yennefer announced, collecting a rag and water which she warmed with magic. Gently she pushed Jaskier’s dishevelled hair from her face, running the rag to clean the mess on her face. There was a purpling bruise on her left cheek and Yennefer had to force the anger down when she saw it.

Geralt paced the length of the room, unspent rage flowing off him in waves. “In my closet, their some clothes. They should fit her. Giver her something more comfortable to wear.” Yennefer had no intentions of stripping Jaskier without the bard’s permission but she couldn’t bare to watch the Witcher pace any further.

When Geralt returned he picked the flowers and ribbon from their bard’s hair, gently smoothing it down as Yennefer watched. There was a tenderness in his face that Yennefer had never seen before. Before she could comment on it, Jaskier began to stir between them.

She screams. She screams and lashes out at the figure above her. She feels skin meet flesh but then she is being pinned down and there are voices. Someone stroking her head but Jaskier can’t hear them. All she can see is Valdo Marx above her, pushing her down and forcing himself upon her. She screams again long and loud and then she sees nothing.

Witcher’s don’t cry. They are mutants, unfeeling. They do not get upset enough to cry. But Geralt almost does. He almost cries like he hasn’t since the Trial of Grasses when Jaskier wakes up seemingly not recognising them. She screams a loud and terrifying noise that makes Geralt’s heartbreak. When she lashes out at him, he doesn’t react, let’s her fists connect with his torso as she struggles against Yennefer’s hold on her. When Yennefer pins her down enough to be able to cast a sleeping spell, Geralt strokes her hair, telling her that it will all be ok. Even if it doesn’t feel like it will be.

Jaskier is alone when she wakes next. She is a room she doesn’t recognise in a bed that smells of gooseberries and lilac. Of Yennefer. It takes Jaskier a few moments to remember what happens and when she does it takes all of will power not to curl into a ball and cry. But no, Jaskier is not Julia she reminds herself. She travels with a Witcher and will not be beaten by something so ridiculous as being almost raped a second time by the same man. She will not have her actions cause shame and disappointment again.

“Jaskier what are you doing?” Geralt’s voice in the doorway as the bard lifts herself from the bard.

“Standing up Geralt, what does it look like I’m doing.” She tries to put as much of her usual self into those words as she can but even she can sound how tired she is.

“You don’t have to.” Jaskier hates the worried tone in Geralt’s voice. Hates the way he is hovering in front of her, not knowing what to do. Jaskier is not Julia she reminds herself again. Jaskier is not afraid and will not be shamed but a ridiculous thing as a near second rape.

“Could I have a bath please?” She asks, glad her voice is steady now. “I’m afraid all that dancing in the sun has made me sweat a bit and I smell worse than you do after days in the saddle without washing.” Geralt is looking at her sadly but Jaskier refuses to notice it. Jaskier is not Julia, she reminds herself again. Jaskier is not a victim. Jaskier will never be a victim.

“I’ll get one drawn up.” Geralt answers.

“Where are we anyway?” Jaskier asks, the landscape outside the window doesn’t look like Oxenfurt.

“Vengerburg.” Geralt replies and Jaskier lets out a small oh.

The bath is nice. It’s warm and remains at the same temperature for the duration of Jaskier’s long and vigorous bath. Yennefer’s magic, Jaskier supposes as she scrubs hard at her skin. She’s glad Geralt left her be while she bathed. She couldn’t bare to let him see the frantic cleaning she was doing. Her skin crawled from Valdo’s touches and she could almost imagine is hands on her skin. Jaskier scrubbed until she couldn’t feel them again.

She was a bit surprised to find her own clothes laid out for her when she exited the washroom in nothing but a towel. Yennefer must have collected their things from Oxenfurt at some point. It begged the question of how long Jaskier was out for.

Yennefer had stayed away when Jaskier woke next, thinking the bard would want Geralt but when the Witcher walked out of the room with a dejected look on his face and told Yenn Jaskier wanted a bath, the enchantress realised this was most certainly not the Witcher’s area of expertise.

When she heard Jaskier get out of the bath and knew she had been fully clothed, Yennefer knocked on the door and entered after Jaskier said to come in. The bard was sitting at Yennefer’s dressing table, touching the area where Valdo Marx had struck her. Yennefer had removed the bruises as well as all other evidence that the man had touched Jaskier. Even if she couldn’t get rid of the feeling of his hand’s on Jaskier’s skin, Yennefer would be damned if she’d let those bruises remain.

“May I.” Yennefer asked, picking up the bone comb and motioning to Jaskier’s brown locks. The bard nodded and sat bone straight as Yennefer combed through her hair. It had been less than 48 hours since Yennefer had done this on the morning of Jaskier’s performance but it felt like a lifetime.

“What would you like done with the dress?” Yennefer asked. The beautiful blue and yellow dress lay in a mound on the floor.

“Burn it.” Jaskier growled, anger flashing in her eyes before they returned to the dull blue they had been since she woke up. Yennefer nodded and the dress burnt to ash. Such a shame, Jaskier had looked truly wonderful in that dress.

“Would you like to talk about it?” Yennefer asked and Jaskier met her own violet eyes in the mirror, pain radiating from them. “You don’t have to. If you don’t want to.” Jaskier shook her head, blinked once and a fake smile plastered on her lips.

“I know what you’re talking about. I was a tad drunk, don’t remember a thing.” Jaskier laughed but Yennefer knew the lie and Jaskier knew she knew. Neither said a word about it.

When Geralt walked back into the house after grooming Roach he breathed in relief. The smell of Valdo Marx mixed with acute fear that had surrounded Jaskier had turned to her usual scent mixed with the gooseberries of Yennefer. He sat down and listened to Yennefer and Jaskier’s soft breathing from the other room and felt a sigh of relief. His bard was safe.

It took Jaskier the rest of that day before she finally lost her temper. “Stop it.” She stood in front of Yennefer and Geralt who were sat in on the couch in Yennefer’s living room looking rather bemused. At any other time it might have been funny but Jaskier had had enough.

“Stop what little bard?” Yennefer purred.

“The fawning. I don’t need you to treat me like I’m going to break. I’m not some delicate flower who needs protecting, so just stop it.”

“Jaskier,” Yennefer started, glancing over at Geralt and obviously deciding that she would get no help from the Witcher. That man was terrible with words, truly terrible. “You went through a traumatic experience. We just want to make sure you’re ok.”

The anger in Jaskier’s eyes was the most emotion either the Witcher or witch had seen since Jaskier woke up and while it was bemusing it was most certainly welcome. “I don’t need your help. Nothing happened. I am fine.” Jaskier ground her teeth at the last one, fixing both the Witcher and enchantress with a glare which no ordinary human would have ever dared give either of them. But Jaskier wasn’t an ordinary human was she.

“Jaskier, you were almost raped.” Geralt growled. Yennefer almost rolled her eyes at the way Jaskier’s eyes sparkled with new found anger. Very tactful Geralt, very tactful.

“But I wasn’t. And I am fine.” Jaskier growled back, fixing the Witcher with eyes that had turned a stormy grey in anger.

“You weren’t.” Geralt went to his feet and Yennefer almost didn’t pick up on the flinch Jaskier gave. Geralt obviously saw as well as his shoulders slumped a little as if in defeat. “You were a mess. You were very obviously not alright. You don’t think I notice when you disappear after performances when you come back the next morning looking a little defeated. That the attention you get isn’t always what you want but you let them take what they want anyway. I notice. I notice every fucking time and I hate that I can’t protect you from every bastard that wants to hurt you.”

“I do believe that is the most words you ever said in one sentence.” Jaskier laughed, hoping to diffuse the tension in the air. She couldn’t believe this was happening. They were going to leave her. They were going to be ashamed, embarrassed of her. They’d abandon her just like her parents and Jaskier didn’t think she could take that a second time.

“We won’t leave you.” Yennefer had caught the stray thought in Jaskier’s head and the bard met the witch’s eyes. He blue eyes had turned watery with tears and Yennefer stood up and did something she never thought she would. She gathered the other girl into her arms and held her tightly. “We will not leave you. We will not call you a whore. We will not abandon you for something that is not our fault.” Yennefer promised, wondering when she had grouped herself as we with Geralt when it came to their bard. When the bard in front of her became not just the Witcher’s bard but the enchantress’s bard to.

“We won’t leave you.” Geralt grumbled, arm going around Jaskier’s other side and enveloping both women to his broad chest. Jaskier let out a choked off sob and she rested her head on Geralt’s torso, bringing her own arms around Yennefer’s.

One day Yennefer would ask what had happened to Jaskier to make her believe being raped was cause for her to be named a whore. But not today. Today she would just be there for her bard by her Witcher’s side. And she would make their bard know that she was never alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed.


End file.
